


It's Just Skin

by theclouddetective



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Cutting, Depressed Sans, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I'm having a bit of a bad time so um, Mental Illness, Mute Frisk, Nonbinary Frisk, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader-Insert, Self-Harm, Smoking, gender neutral reader, here's some vent crap I guess, sans/reader - Freeform, wow this is actually really shit forgive me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 08:54:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5660404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclouddetective/pseuds/theclouddetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damage is nothing new to you. Unfortunately, it's very, very, very new to him.</p><p>Reader self harms.</p><p>Sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Just Skin

**Author's Note:**

> follow up chapter in the works, thank you so much for all the lovely encouragement and support!

It was pathetic, really. You hated stooping to this, you hated knowing exactly how low you’d gotten to need something this unstable just to get through the day. And yet, here you were. Sitting on the edge of the tub, shaking, alone, watching the blood crawl down your legs. It had been arms first, but a rather jarring encounter had forced you to switch your attentions to splitting the skin of your thighs instead. It was just as well, you had told yourself. You cut deeper here. Rewind. 

You remembered with a chilling kind of clarity the first time you had intentionally hurt yourself- early morning, when the house was silent. A needle from your little sewing set dragged across your wrist, not deep enough to bleed, just enough to raise angry red lines that stung longer than they were visible. It wasn’t long before there were blades, dismantled pencil sharpeners, exacto-knives, lit matches, cigarettes. Anything for the spike of pain. Anything to help you methodically destroy yourself. Anything to feel that release. Anything to cling to. Anything to see the mess in your head turned into something corporeal. It was easier for you to believe you were sick if you could see the evidence right there on your skin. 

You’d picked up smoking for the same reason. To burn. To destroy yourself. Because it would ruin you. And in a sickening kind of way, that was so much more acceptable. So you smoked your lungs black when you needed a kick and pinned a smile to your face when you needed to. But behind closed doors you continued with your more blatant mutilation. 

The cigarettes, it turned out, while not your favorite method of destruction, were a godsend when you had to keep your cool in public. In fact, the two-packs a day you’d been blowing through you were getting you through this vacation. 

It was a month ago now that Frisk had cheerily suggested your tight-knit group of friends go on vacation, and somehow, within that time, everyone had managed to work together to actually do it. And so, here you were, two days in, chain smoking by the pool while you watched everyone go about their merry day. Only two days, and you were already on edge, not having been able to cut given the fact that you were sharing a room with [of course] your self-proclaimed bonefriend. Who was, laziness aside, hyper-vigilant. And you weren’t planning on letting him know what you’d been doing anytime soon. Preferably ever. So you sweltered and smoked and tried not to mope as you watched your best friends in the world have a blast.

Frisk had tried to pull you into the pool the first day, waving their hands about and signing encouragements, but you had just smiled and shook your head, motioning back that you weren’t that fond of the water. They’d stuck out their tongue, then signed out an ‘if you say so,’ before jumping into the pool cannon-ball style, bright brown face smiling in the sun. There had been different numbers of friends and strangers in the pool throughout the past two days, but today it was sweltering, and it seemed everyone was crowded into the water, searching for relief. In fact, of all the friends you’d taken with you, the only company you had by the pool and under the umbrella was a slightly wilting and absolutely livid Flowey, sulking in his pot. You’d exchanged a few words with him, but after a healthy amount of biting comments from his part, you’d ultimately decided that silence was preferable.  
You wondered idly if your friends were concerned about your lack of enthusiasm for the water when it was rapidly approaching ninety degrees, but found that if they were, they were having a hell of a time showing it. Alphys was perched on Undyne’s shoulders, both in matching polka dot one pieces and engaged in what seemed to be some kind of intense chicken-fight with Papyrus [who was holding up surprisingly well] and a giggling Frisk. You tugged at your collar, then your sleeves, cringing as the sweat made the fabric of your light sweater cling to your skin. You turned your attention then to Sans, who was floating errantly in an inflatable tube, somehow avoiding the splashes getting kicked up by the fight just feet away from him while Toriel worried over the ordeal from the shallow end. 

You pulled in a breath and felt the heat of the lit tip seep through the filter of your cigarette. You frowned and stubbed it out, wondering where it had gone so quickly. You were reaching for another one when your stomach twisted, a sharp jolt that told you exactly what you needed to know before your fingers had even touched the carton. You were out. You’d smoked your last one, your foreseen four packs having been burnt through far faster than you thought. You steadied yourself against the table, taking a deep breath. There wasn’t a gas station, corner store, or smoke shop anywhere for miles- that’s why you’d brought cigarettes in the first place. There was no way for you to get more at this point, and the discovery, while minor, had begun to tug at your anxiety. You settled deeper into the lounge chair you occupied, trying to ignore the increasingly bad feeling growing in your chest, and failing miserably. You cast a look to Flowey besides you, then the pool. No one was paying attention. You needed to get away, and soon, to resolve this. A few deep cuts would get you by another day or so. If they were deep enough they’d keep stinging for a good while. 

You quietly shoved your lighter in your pocket, stretched, and slunk away from the gated pool area, booking it for your room as soon as you’d made your way into the lobby and out of sight. You shared room 6C with Sans, and it was already a sprawled out and familiar mess, clothes and assorted vacation necessities littering the bed, floor, hanging from the lamp, etc. You bit your lip, digging through your suitcase and trying to steady your hands as you searched for that one- aha. Right with your wallet. You liked to keep your necessities in one place, and god if this wasn’t one of them. Gripping the little bag you kept your variety of sharp tools in, you locked yourself into the bathroom and, with only slight trepidation, began. 

Fast Forward.

A slow knock broke you from your concentration, a muffled “Babe? Are you in there?” in Sans’s sleepy drawl somehow highlighting exactly how bad of an idea this was. You hadn’t realized he’d entered the room, and you were pretty damn sure he was going to leave it. You whispered a quiet ‘shit, shit shit shit shit shit,’ a litany of regrets as you scrambled to mop of the mess and tug on your pants. And you made it, convinced you were presentable just seconds before you knew he would start to worry. You swung the door open with a smile, hardly pausing to enjoy him sporting hot dog swim trunks before curling your arms around him and shivering. “You’re all cold!” You whined as his fingers, still cool from the water, brushed across your lower back.  
“Well you’re burning up,” he replied, nuzzling his forehead into your neck. “What took you so long? I was starting to worry. You could say my stomach was starting to-” he paused, winking for comedic effect. “-sink.” You snorted, shoving against his chest lightly. You were anxious to replace your bag, and him pressing against you was starting to feel risky.  
“I was just feeling a little sick, must have been the heat,” you dismissed.  
“Are you feeling okay? Have you been drinking enough water?”  
“Water you talking about, of course I’m okay! I just needed some air.” He squinted, usual grin lessening.  
“So. You went inside.”  
“Yup!”  
“To get air.”  
“Uh. Well. Air conditioning anyway. I wouldn’t call that muggy mess outside ‘air’ exactly.” You laughed nervously, stepping away from the door and towards the bed. You didn’t notice when he stiffened, his back now to you as you went through the motions of sorting clothes. 

“Babe?” The tone of voice stopped you, if nothing else.  
“Y-yeah?” A pause.  
“Is that- blood, on the tub?” You winced, realizing you must have missed a spot, your mind screaming. You elected to stay silent. The door shut, and you dimly heard his head slam against the wood.  
He was a smart guy. You had no doubt that that was all he’d needed to figure it out. You briefly wondered if he was going to yell at you, hurt you more, cry. You couldn’t decide which was worse. It felt like forever before he turned around, and god did you regret it when he did.  
His eyes were empty, as you’d seem them only once or twice before, and you seemed to feel the weight of everything you’d done creeping down your back. His voice was flat when he spoke again. Lifeless.

“Arms,” he mumbled, head still resting against the door.  
“W-what?” you croaked, dizzy fear rushing through you.  
“I said,” he told you, “Arms!” and suddenly you were on you back against the mattress, his eyes flashing wildly as he tugged down your sleeves. You choked as he surveyed the dim scars left from your previous haunts, brow furrowing when he failed to find newer ones.  
“Legs,” he commanded, just as flatly.  
“Sans, I-”  
“Take off your fucking pants and let me see your legs,” he growled, and you felt yourself nodding. A slide of fabric. A gasp. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Not to most. Not to him, certainly. Revolting. You knew this, and refused to meet his eyes. He sat above you like that silently, and you wished he would just get it over with. He had every right to be mad. This was selfish, stupid-  
And that’s when he collapsed on top of you, heaving sobs shaking his ribs.

“It’s- it’s just skin,” you mumbled, fighting down the burning in your eyes and the swelling in your throat that told you that you were most definitely about to cry. “No big deal, hey, It’s just-”  
“I don’t care!” he spat, clutching at your sweater, then tugging it over your head. You were too numb to struggle. “I don’t care! I don’t care if it’s just skin! This is what you’ve been hiding from me?” he reached out to touch your now bare arm, ghosting across one of the pinker lines before shuddering and returning his hands to your sides.  
“I-”  
“You’re struggling, I get it. But you think that gives you the right to- to hurt yourself like this?” You remained silent, as always, as tears began creeping down your face. “You think th-that you- you think that you have the right to hurt something so precious? So loved?” You winced, and he seemed to realize the steel in his voice.  
“I- I-” he fumbled, choking out sobs, “I don’t know what to do!” You sniffed and pulled him down next to you, curling around him as he cried.  
“You’re so- I don’t understand why y-you would- why didn’t you tell me you were-” you pulled him closer to your chest, burying your face into his shoulder as he seemed to regain some kind of composure.  
“I- I’m so sorry,” he coughed, turning to face you, hands clasped around yours. “I am so fucking sorry.” You nodded and hid your face again as he breathed, gasps becoming more regular.  
“W-we’re talking about this, do you hear me? We’re working through this, we’re gonna fi- I don’t want you f-fee- we’re talking about this. In the morning maybe. God, I can’t fucking- I can’t think. Just. Let me hold you. Please. Please, please, for now, just let me hold you.”

And so you did.


End file.
